


Oroboros

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Come Inflation, Healthy Relationships, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Procreative Sex, Pack Family, Relationship Negotiation, brief somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which A Young Omega, In Defiance Of Both Stereotype And Politeness, Propositions An Alpha Of His Own Blood Caste, And Is Rewarded For His Daring; Contains Awkward Pre-Heat Negotiations, A Supportive And Extraordinarily Unconventional Clade, Heat Cycle Copulation, An Incidental Human Character With Attendant Barkbeast, The Brief Appearance Of A Tealblood Whose Flouting Of Convention Should Not Be Emulated, No Production Of Eggs Whatsoever, And A Hive Of Bees With No Actual Bearing On The Narrative's Outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oroboros

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShianneUrami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShianneUrami/gifts).



> The somnophilia bit is v quick and not a big deal for the characters -- basically if it's a kink you're looking for this will disappoint, but if it's a trigger you're looking to avoid here's a heads up.

Your first heat was pretty much terrible from start to finish. 

It came on early, about a perigee before your seventh wiggling day, and your entire clade flipped out about you being too young to breed. In the aftermath, you agree with them 1000%, but at the time, all you knew was that the other omegas of the clade were keeping you locked up and under guard while your nook starved to death. You called your progenitor some _really_ creative names during those three days.

The whole ugly mess is on your mind a lot lately, because you're just about due for round two. A heat cycle is roughly a sweep long, give or take a few nights, and you're approaching the anniversary of the Great Nook Drought, which you have no intention of suffering through again.

You're turning a possible solution over in your head when you come downstairs one evening and discover the clade's first circle in the middle of a conversation. "—be prepared, is all." That's Psii, your progenitor. "Eight sweeps is still young, and I don't want him to get stuck...."

Oh, fuck this conversation sideways.

"I don't know, what if he wants to?" That's Dis, who is not always your favorite, mostly because of her maddening tendency to pounce and fuzzle your hair when you've _finally_ gotten it to lie flat, but who currently wins points for that question.

"Most trolls aren't quite as quick off the kittens mark as you were, love," says Signless, and that's about when you decide to stop lurking in the stairwell eavesdropping. You sweep into the nutritionblock more noisily than you need to, banging things around as you get out a bowl for your cereal.

" _Or_ , as a novel concept," you say to the wall, and not to the collection of traitors discussing your fate over breakfast, "you could just let him handle his own business, that's a thing."

Psii laughs his awful nasal laugh, and you spend a few seconds thinking fondly about dumping ants into his underwear drawer or something.

"Have you already decided how you want to approach it?" Rosa asks, and you turn around to find her watching you over her coffee cup, one eyebrow raised. 

"Maybe," you hedge, because you sort of have but you haven't actually talked to the other party involved yet. "How about _I tell you_ if I wind up unprepared, instead of you guys assuming I'm going to be incompetent again?"

Signless makes the puppy-eyes face that does things to every omega you've ever seen and about half the alphas, too, and your glare wobbles. "We didn't mean you any harm," he says. "I'm sorry, Sollux. You're not incompetent, and we should have involved you in the conversation."

"Yeah, well." You give all of them the most supercilious look you can manage when everybody in the room has sweeps' more experience and perspective than you. "Just don't forget that."

 

Then you abscond with your cereal before you lose that fleeting moment of advantage.

* * *

Mituna, predictably, isn't anywhere in the clade's sprawling communal hive. You don't even bother checking the pastures, because he's never cared much about any of the farm stuff. He's going to be in town, so that's where you go.

You find him doing dumb skateboard tricks in a paved plaza near the human quarter. You wait for him to finish what is probably a 'sick grind' down one of the safety rails humans add to stairs, and then applaud as he careens off the end of it. He stumbles a couple of steps before turning the movement into a big over-the-top bow, from which he comes up grinning.

"Sollux!" He mangles your name even worse than you do. "What's up?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He skates over to you, flips up his board, and catches it. "Sure, dude, what can I do you for?"

You don't facepalm only because you're pretty sure he's hoping for a reaction. "This is serious question time, okay."

"If I got any serious answers, you can have them."

"I guess that'll have to do." It's not like you have all that many options; you need somebody who's an alpha, your blood color, and less than fifty percent shitlord, and you don't have a lot of time to screen strangers for that last part. Fuck it. Might as well get this over with. "I'm expecting my next heat soon, you want to help me out?"

Mituna makes a :o face. "Seriously?"

"Oh my _god_ ," you say, "why do you need to make this difficult? Do you or do you not want to spend three days fucking me out of my mind?"

"Say please," he says, and you turn your back on him to walk away. He catches your elbow. "Sorry! Sorry. I totally do." He reels you in close, and you let him, and he buries his face in the hollow of your throat. Your heart rate speeds up. He mumbles something against your skin.

"What?" You can smell him, the sweat of exertion and the tang of alpha pheromones. It's like getting a good sniff of your favorite food when you're not hungry—you don't _need_ it, clearly, but it's still kind of tempting.

He licks you before he pulls back. "Why me?"

"You're only forty-nine percent shitlord and you won't get me gravid."

Mituna sighs, shaking his head. "You're pretty fucking terrible at flirting."

You wince, because he's right. You hadn't considered that you might need to do any persuading to make this plan work. "Three days of sex" was supposed to be enough of a draw. "You're hot?" you hazard.

"Yup," he says. "What else?"

You huff in frustration. He scratches the nape of your neck and you lean into him. "I've never done this before," you try. Isn't that supposed to be sexy? "I was so miserable last year, and I don't want to go through that again, but I also just really don't want to do the whole eggs thing, not yet. I want to just, you know, try doing it for fun. I bet you'd make it fun." You're not even just flattering him there, when you actually think about it for a minute. If he wasn't trying to be a jackass you bet he really would be fun in bed.

"You still gotta practice to be actually charming," Mituna says, "but not bad for a first try." You take a breath to say something else cranky and he nibbles your earlobe, the jerk, so your knees wobble and your pan short-circuits. His voice drops into a husky whisper. "I will _totally_ help you out, shack up with you and pump you so full you can taste me, worship your nook until you're sobbing my name."

" _Fuck_ ," you gasp, clinging to his shirt. For a second you want to ask him to get started early, because holy shit that has your pants parts getting tingly.

He pulls back and gives you a big dumb fangy grin. "See? More like that."

"Right. Yeah, I'll uh. I'll practice." Your face feels hot. Your plan has just gotten a whole lot less abstract and more real.

"Sweet." He looks up, and when you follow his gaze you see a girl heading your way, a pretty teal with straight-pointed horns and hair falling down to the middle of her back. "Hey baybeeeee," Mituna calls, obnoxiously loud and pushy, like the jerkbag alpha in a romcom who needs to be taken down a notch by the hero.

The girl wolf-whistles back at him, though—or maybe at both of you?—so you figure you don't have to regret knowing him _too_ much.

 

Her name's Latula, and she's an alpha too (god, is she ever; you're not quite ready to go yet but you're definitely at the "sizing up all the possible candidates" stage), and she's a townie. She and Mituna definitely have some kind of flirty thing going on, and you think she's a little disappointed that you aren't scandalized. Seriously, though, maybe among respectable highbloods a two-alpha relationship is news, but your whole clade gives no—well, actually, gives lots of fucks in whatever direction seems fun at the time.

You don't say that, though. If you mess up whatever Rromio-Julytt game she and Mituna are playing here he might change his mind about giving giving _you_ the fucks you're looking for. You hang out with them for long enough that it doesn't look like you only want Mituna for his slurry, and it doesn't seem too much like you're obviously expecting them to suck face the second you leave, and then you make yourself scarce. They _are_ totally going to be sucking face as soon as you leave, so. Might as well let them get to it.

* * *

When you get home, Psii is sitting on the front steps, smoking. Nobody else is around; it's just the glow of his eyes and the glow of his cigarette.

"Have a seat," he says when you get close.

You do. He's quiet. You stay quiet too, trying to read him. You watch him roll another cigarette full of Meulin's homegrown. The little movements in his forearm muscles make the bees tattooed on his arms dance. They're crappy, smudgy tattoos, but you've always thought they were kind of cool anyway. Once you asked him what the bees were trying to tell him when they moved like that, and he said _the way home, obviously_ , but then he wouldn't say anything else for the rest of the night. He can be weird sometimes.

"If this is about earlier," you start eventually.

"I'm sorry about this evening," he says at the same time. You both laugh a little, and the quiet gets more comfortable. He takes another drag. And then: "You know I was just a little older than you when I got sent to prison."

He _never_ talks about those sweeps. "Yeah."

"I'd only had one heat before that. Five or six of them while I was locked up."

"Then you—" You can't even take your first thought to its logical conclusion. It leaves you feeling queasy. "...Did you have grubs?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "Couple of slugs. No viable eggs, though. They didn't pull guys off the work crew for going gravid."

The way the older members of the clade act around Psii's heats, equal parts furious and tender, makes a lot more sense now. "I'm sorry," you say, which is dumb and inadequate but how could you not?

"Not your fault," he says, like a gigantic tool who thinks that was an apology instead of a sympathy offer. "Anyway, just. That's what's going on when I meddle in your business. It's not that I think you're incompetent, okay? It's just my own damage talking. You've got room to make much better choices than I could. You'll do okay."

"I asked Mituna," you volunteer, and Psii chokes on his next drag.

"Well," he wheezes, "I guess everybody has to make their own mistakes."

"Jerk," you say. You lean against his side comfortably and listen to his dumb snickering. Your clade are good people. You're going to get through this just fine.

* * *

The next night you're transporting a couple of bee hives out to a rental site, so one of the human farmers on the other side of town can make sure her crops get pollinated. You catch Mituna giving you these thoughtful looks a couple of times, like he's sizing you up, so maybe you show off a little more than you need to—bending over to check on the bees, stretching in the way that makes your shirt ride up, stuff like that.

And maybe you're looking at him, too, and thinking about the way his shirt stretches tight across his thorax, the way when he's not being a total spaz he moves with this easy confidence that you don't even know how you'd begin to emulate. You're going to have that all to yourself for the days of your heat. The anticipation might be starting to get to you a little. You've watched porn. You've had possibly the most thorough version of The Talk any troll ever received. You know what you're getting into. But you _don't_ , at the same time; there's only so much you can pick up secondhand. 

You finish up the job, Jade waves goodbye and goes trotting off with her livestock guardian hellhound, and before you can climb back into the truck Mituna pins you against the side of it. His hips press against yours and you'd swear you can feel the thickness of a swelling sheath. "So what was that about?" he asks.

"What was what about?" 

He freezes. "Weren't you—I thought you were trying to be a tease there, fuckkk, I'm sorry, I really don't wanna be that guy," and he's starting to back off by the time you get hold of his belt loops to stop him.

"Wow, dude, cool your jets," you say. "The express flight to conclusionville has been cancelled."

"Aww." He pouts. "I wanted to try their shitty tourist food."

"Oh my god, you are such a dweeb." He grins, and you can't help echoing it just a little. "But you're a sexy dweeb, I guess."

That's apparently reassurance enough to make him lean down and kiss you, which is awesome. He starts off really gentle, barely touching you before he pulls back, but the second kiss is a little firmer than the first, and the third _almost_ counts as lingering. You lean into him and he nips your lower lip, which makes things in your brain light up in little sparkly patterns. That time when he retreats you catch yourself trying to follow him, your mouth still open, chasing after the taste of something delicious and strange.

You pull back, shaking your head to clear it. "Let's, um. Get going." 

"Not having fun?" Mituna asks, the jackass.

You shove at his shoulder. "Not interested in putting on a show for someone we do business with. Come on, I shouldn't be the mature and responsible one here."

He grins. "Hey, I called _not it_ on that one before your adult molt, dude." Still, he gives you room to move, which you use to open the shotgun-side door and climb into the truck.

You guys take the scenic route on the way home, circling around the edges of town instead of going through, which is nothing new (because honestly both highbloods and human law enforcement tend to be douchewads to hicks like you). But Mituna pulls off the road into a little gravel lot at the edge of the county park, kills the engine, and looks over at you with a grin. "Not putting on a show out here," he says.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. "You incredible horndog," you say, even though you're the one climbing across the bench seat to get to him.

It takes another hour before you make it back to the farm, and you arrive home in possession of a throbbing wiggly and probably half a dozen distinct hickeys. You might actually have attempted more than you did, if you hadn't elbowed the steering wheel hard enough to make the horn blare in the attempt to climb into Mituna's lap. The giggling fit that followed—for both of you—was enough to break the tension and get you headed home.

And you realize as you fall into the pile that morning that you've ditched the last of your worries about your heat, like maybe they fell out of the back of the truck somewhere. Mituna's into you. He knows what he's doing. You're going to have a good time.

* * *

The next evening you wake up feverish and over-sensitive, already sticky between your thighs. No wonder you were so into truck makeouts. You stare at the ceiling for a long minute, trying to convince yourself to get some food instead of just making a beeline (heh) for Mituna's pants.

Then someone knocks at your door, too quiet and polite to be him. "What," you yell at it instead of getting up. As more of your brain comes online you're getting increasingly set on _bulge or GTFO_ as a philosophy.

The door opens; it's Kanaya, and she's brought food. Your philosophy can wait.

"I'm not sick," you say as you sit up.

"That is a terrible expression of gratitude but I don't know what else I expected," she says. She puts the plate down on the table next to your pile. "The clade alphas have all cleared out so you won't be influenced by their presence." _And do something stupid_ is the rest of that sentence, but Kanaya is probably more polite when she's killing people than you are on a good day. "You are thus free to make choices with as clear a mind as possible under the circumstances."

You nod. You've already made your choice, though, and it still sounds like a good idea. More of one than before, even. "Can you let Mituna know I'm up? We talked about it. He's expecting a booty call." You take the plate. "Thanks for this."

"You would do the same for any of us when our turn came around." You think it has to be a Maryam thing, the ability to make declarative statements that have all the force of a command. "I'll tell Mituna you're ready."

"You're a lifesaver, KN," you say.

Food tastes really weird and kind of off right now but you chew your way mechanically through breakfast anyway. You're going to need the energy.

Right this minute, of course, it feels like you have more energy than you know what to do with and most of it is going into making you twitchy and nervous. You wonder how long it will take for Kanaya to track down Mituna. You wonder what's taking him so long to get up here. Your skin's too sensitive, so you pull your shirt off. That feels like a step in the right direction, so you kick your boxers off, too. Your nook is already wet, your bulge swelling in its sheath, and you're pretty sure you could coax it out with barely a stroke or two.

Which would kind of make you a porno for Mituna to walk into, but whatever. You can't bring yourself to give a damn right now and he'd probably think it was great, and anyway your fingers are already doing the exploring while you're still thinking about how it would look. You flop back on your pile, legs splayed, squeezing your bulge as it emerges. There's a throb in your nook that makes you squirm, needy, and he really needs to hurry up. You _could_ , technically, stick your fingers up there to try to take the edge off, but you got so sore doing that last sweep it doesn't sound like a very good idea.

Finally there's another knock at the door. Two knocks, technically, and then Mituna asking, "You decent?"

"No," you say. "Get in here already."

He saunters in with a cocky, shit-eating grin on his face and that melts into raw hunger as he gets a look at you. "Fuuuuck," he says, and you can smell him and that look on his face and the ache in your nook and you're going to explode any second.

"You talked a real good game," you say, and your voice is tight and shaky but that'll work for you here, you're pretty sure. "Wanna show me what you can do?"

His shirt comes off over his head before you've finished asking the question, and then he drops into the pile, leaning down between your spread thighs. Holy shit, holy _shit_ , he just presses his mouth straight to your nook and you let off sparks at the first touch of his tongue. You arch your hips, pushing into his mouth, and he's purring as he shoves his tongue up your nook as far as it'll go. Everything's going so fast, your head's spinning, and the hand that isn't curled around your bulge gropes for something to hold onto.

Your first climax is almost a non-event, just this quick wrenching shudder through your abdomen and a heaviness in your globes. You hiss and swear because the pressure is weird and it didn't even take the edge off. "Come on," you whine, "more."

Mituna pulls his mouth _away_ from your nook, which is the wrong direction and you fumble at him to push him back down. His mouth is smeared yellow. "More, huh?" He nips your flailing hand. "Need a nice fat bulge up there?"

"Yeah," you say, "but I'll settle for yours," and you probably entirely deserve the way he smacks the inside of your thigh for that but you still yelp. "Sorry, I'm an asshole," you say, because you thought he liked that but what if he doesn't and what if you make him regret helping so much that he decides you're not worth the trouble and leaves you feeling like this and—

"I'm sorry you're an asshole too," he says, unbuttoning his pants. "My bulge's self-esteem might never recover." He's smirking. You're mostly sure he's just fucking with you.

Still, you make yourself sit up. "Let me give it some reassurance, then."

You were being totally unfair about his size. The bulge uncoiling to meet you right now is as thick as your wrist at the base and smells like pure heaven. You lick it, and then you whine, because wow that tastes amazing and you want more of it in your mouth _right now_. So what the hell, you open your mouth wide and cram it down your throat and Mituna lisps curses so incoherent that even you can't parse them. Who had a fucking brilliant idea for how to cope with this sweep's heat? That's right, it was you.

The thin trickle of material from his bulge makes you dizzy and greedy and you suckle at it, purring, still squeezing your own with one hand. Another little ripple runs through you and you're embarrassed that sucking bulge apparently does that much for you but even feeling embarrassed is sexy right now, fuck. God, you just want to rub yourself all over him and fill yourself up with him and never come down from this feeling.

Eventually he gets you by the horns and pulls you back, and you growl a little but you're so totally off-balance you can't put up a fight. "How's your nook?" he asks.

"Way too empty," you realize. You wish there were three of him. You wish the rest of the clade alphas hadn't cleared off so they could all help. You _know_ you'd be sorry about that when you had eggs to carry but god it's so hard to care. 

"That's what I thought. C'mere and let me fix it, bulgemuffin."

You try to stifle the snickering. "You are the worst at pet names, holy shit."

"You love it," Mituna says as he tumbles both of you onto your sides in the pile. "Honeynooknnnph." When you kiss him, he can't talk. Which is magical.

He can still do the important stuff, after all, like tugging your legs up around his waist and your torso snug against his, putting his bulge and your nook in close enough proximity to oh, fuck, it slides up into you and it goes so much more easily than your fingers ever did even though there's a _lot_ of it and all your nerve endings are reporting _yes yes yes_ back to your fried pan.

Your hips roll with his and his bulge twists up deeper into your nook, and you tangle your fingers in the mess of his hair because you really need something to hold on to. The tip of his bulge can just barely reach your seedflap, and when it does, the tension that sings through you feels a lot more like normal arousal, the kind where you're not in heat and your globes aren't significantly invested in the process. You chase that familiar pleasure, squirming on Mituna's bulge and sucking on his tongue, and you get another of those shivering mini-orgasms through your globes but that's not enough to satisfy.

"More," you plead when he slows down, "oh my god, more."

"That's like basically the whole plan for the next three nights, dude, don't panic." He bites your throat, a slow scrape of his fangs, and you clench your thighs tight around him. He laughs, low and knowing like you just admitted to something (you totally just admitted to something), and bites you again, sucking on your trapped skin until the ache of it thrums in your bloodstream. You moan, your head tipped back to encourage him to keep biting, and your fingers tighten in his hair probably too hard but he doesn't stop you.

You're a coil of shivering, squirming need, your skin hot all over, your nook ground zero for a full-body natural disaster. You're getting the hang of moving with him now, so the things your hips do build on the way his bulge coils, a positive feedback loop amping you up in steady waves of pleasure. He's so fucking big, and it means he's filling up every empty craving spot you have, and you're like—you're a crackling series of static discharges building and reverberating and fucking up all your energy metaphors but the point, the _point_ , is that you get to the big one, the lightning strike, and shake yourself to pieces around the anchoring point of Mituna's bulge in a glorious chain reaction.

He slows to a stop as you're still gasping for breath, and you blink at him, bleary. "Did you?"

"Twice so far. Little ones." He grins. "Don't worry, you'll _know_ when the big one happens."

You laugh breathlessly. _You're just getting started_. "This was the best idea I've ever had."

* * *

You fuck for a while longer. You nap. Then you fuck again. Then you eat some food Psii brought by. Then Mituna sucks your bulge and you fuck a third time. You repeat basically until you lose consciousness. 

On the second night you try it with him riding you—your bulge is a lot smaller, but he's got the alpha barely-more-than-vestigial-nook thing going on and he's a kinky shit, so it works. You're both kinky shits, and he feels like warm, soaking-wet satin inside. The room reeks of your combined pheromones and your thighs are constantly slick with lubricating fluid and everything in your pile is going to need to be burned at the end of all this. Your globes are swelling in your lower abdomen. There's a ring of hickeys almost all the way around your throat, and Mituna's back looks like a well-used scratching post. You're exhausted and sore and desperate and it's _fantastic_.

* * *

You wake up coming on the third night, Mituna's bulge already in you, his body pressed sticky and hot against your back as you shudder and gasp. Your globes ache, so swollen with material by now that you can find them by touch through your skin. You loll back and nuzzle at Mituna where his head's tucked against your shoulder.

"I'm dead," you tell him. "I'm dead from sex."

"You'll get better, though, right?" he asks, sounding worried enough that you're sure he's not serious.

"No," you say solemnly. "This is it, I'm done for."

"Welp." He pulls out and rolls you onto your back, surveying you with an expression you're not sure whether to transcribe as :/ or :x. "I guess I'll have to eat your breakfast."

That wakes you up the rest of the way and you scramble up out of the pile, grabbing at his ankle to trip him before he can make good on that threat. Mituna flails, sparking uselessly as he goes down, and the two of you roll over each other wrestling and growling for a minute before your body notices that hey, you could now be having more sex except _awake_ this time, and the wrestling turns into grinding.

"Yeah?" Mituna asks as you hump his thigh. "Again?"

"Nnngh," you say, and make yourself let go. "After food. How the fuck do people live through this when they try to just pair up without a clade for support?"

"Miracles," Mituna says, to which you would respond with the appropriate scorn except that you have reached the tray of breakfast food and stuffed 75% of a muffin into your facegash. Food first; mocking later. Priorities are important.

You're sort of getting used to constant arousal as a state of being. It doesn't suck this sweep, when you're more or less getting what your body demands. Okay, the part where you're so wobbly that you can't operate any machinery more complicated than a fork is still obnoxious. Your muscles stopped trying to keep up a while ago. (Belatedly you wonder if this, and not sheer vanity, is the reason both Psii and Mituna work out. You figured it had to be either vanity or an attempt to stave off self-loathing, or both, the way stuff like that always is for you. But no, it might actually be year-round training for the annual sex marathon.)

Round two for the night is a sweet, blurry haze where you've both run out of words and just settled into the certainty that this is what you're _for_ , your bodies interlocking and your breath full of each other's sweet pheromone need. He licks your sweat-sticky skin and you kiss all his bitten spots, and it feels weirdly sincere given how you usually treat each other.

You have no idea how long round two lasts, but you can definitely pinpoint the moment when it flips over into round three. The tip of his bulge slides against your seedflap, deep in your nook, and instead of just throbbing in response your flap unfurls and takes him in. You make a tiny, startled noise, and he does something way too much like a sob, and your muscles contract in a rippling thrum that's totally unfamiliar and totally _right_. His bulge pulses and swells in response, thickening where the base fits just inside you.

"Oh my god," you breathe. "That's your knot."

"Mmmn," he agrees, purring low against your hearhandle, and your whole body tries to squeeze down around him. "You ready to find out just how much slurry you can hold?"

 _Fuck_. You whine, your tender globes pumping their first contribution into your gene bladder in response to Mituna's knot or his dirty talk or the pheromones _he's_ pumping in there, you don't know and it doesn't matter. The contractions of your globes are a relief, redistributing pressure in your abdomen in a much more comfortable way, but the throbbing of Mituna's bulge and the release of his slurry are something else, strange and demanding and fulfilling all at once. 

"Fill me up," you whisper when you get past the first disorienting sensations. "Come on, give me all of it, I want everything you've got."

Mituna shudders all over, his knot swelling thicker in your nook, his arms wrapped tight around you, and you feel like you're flying. Your body just... lights up, and you try to make a mental note to resent biology later but honestly you're not sure if it'll stick. The only time you've ever felt this elated about anything before was during a manic episode, and that was always jittery and full of static. This is just pure, unmitigated bliss, your gene bladder expanding and setting off a cascade of _you done good_ signals through your entire nervous system.

You kiss Mituna so you won't start babbling at him about how it feels, and from the way he kisses you back you'd believe he has the same motivation. You hum and purr into each other's mouths, teasing and suckling, as if you could pass the bliss back and forth. You have never been so high.

You're not actually sure when he finishes. Everything in your lower abdomen feels flushed and swollen, _full_ in the best way. When it occurs to you eventually that the fullness has stopped increasing, you pull back, blinking at him slowly, trying and probably failing not to make stupid faces. "Wow," you say.

"Heh," he says. "Yeah." He squirms, wiggling his hips but not making his bulge go anywhere. "Now we just gotta give this another hour to notice."

"Fffffffff." You hadn't been thinking about that part at all. "A whole hour? Seriously?"

"Good thing I'm the most handsome and witty and charming person you know, huh," he says with a grin. "Otherwise that could get awkward."

"Oh my god, shut up," you say, but the hand that was supposed to swat him for being obnoxious winds up petting him instead, and your face is doing a thing that feels about as goofy as his looks, and this is okay, more than okay, this is basically the best.

You're _totally_ going to have to do this again next time.


End file.
